Today I woke up in a world where I am a terrible human being. Not only because of things that I may have done, things that would have originated in my active mind to be carried out by me in the real world, in opposition to morality and common decency, but also because of what I am, which is depressed, and somehow incapable of simply snapping my fingers and magically becoming cheerful and well adjusted, and also being a man that is so out of control that he cannot even sleep without snoring.
People are telling stories about me. Stories that are neither flattering, nor true. I am not now aware of the details of these stories, but I know that they are in the air, and I think that I know in which direction they travel. I have a hunch that they would, if they were true, make me a much more interesting man that I actually am. So I’m on a fence about confronting them. No, I’ll settle for the real me, the dull me. If the rumors are in any way exciting, they’re probably not true.
The rumors serve a purpose, and that purpose is my demonization. Oh, my friends, I have counseled you all recently not to get involved with beautiful women, and I would add to that to never, ever get involved with women who have anger issues, women who awake every morning to an entire world of people and things that infuriate them, women who hate their own parents and at least half of their siblings, who hate most of their friends, and who virulently hate almost all of the rest of the world on general principals. Don’t do it! No matter how beautiful they are.
Why would anyone hook up with such a woman? Marry her and try to make a life with her? Stick by her for forty-plus years, raising two nice sons? Well, for one thing, there’s the beautiful bit, and she was plenty sexy besides. For another, she was very smart and well organized. Those skills would come in handy building a family. I also knew that she was adrift herself in a world not of her making, and that she was unhappy in the extreme. We shared those conditions. I stupidly thought that maybe by forgiving her peccadillos and loving her unreservedly I could make her happy. And maybe she would forgive me mine. More fool me.
Of course, she ultimately kicked me out. After five years of exile I filed for divorce. Of course, being depressed, I blame myself. Of course, in the eyes of my ex-wife, my sons, most of my family, my neighbors, the friends that were “our” friends (and even some that were “my” friends), and the world at large, all of this is massively my fault, exclusively. It’s always the man’s fault! I make matters worse by living in Thailand. When people hear that, they’re absolutely positive that I went Cuckoo For Coco Puffs and am just here for the girls. Which, just to be clear, is not the case. I came to Thailand to make a living and to be able to afford a decent lifestyle. I know what you’re thinking, most of you are on the Pussy Crazy side of the argument. Ah, well, it does tend to make me much more interesting than the quiet, unassuming man that sits at the keyboard before you.
I might as well get on board; this train is ready to roll. Think what you want, world. I’ve got shit to do.